


all that remains

by cassandor



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: (kind... of?), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cassian Andor-centric, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Cassian Andor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV Cassian Andor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, hope and nothing else, sole survivor au, what keeps cassian going?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandor/pseuds/cassandor
Summary: I made a post on tumblr about how cassian being the sole surivor of rogue one could be more tragic than the actual ending. so, here we are.(what keeps cassian going?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A testament to your will to live.” 
> 
> “For the Rebellion,” Cassian mumbles, and the Sullustan nods knowingly.
> 
> (warning in end notes)

Cassian wakes up alone, the solitary beeping of a machine ringing in his ears. 

This isn’t anything new.

Slowly, he takes note of his surroundings. It’s the Rebel Alliance medbay - something he’s all too familiar with. He sighs in relief, the burden of a failed mission lifted off his shoulders, lungs aching in protest. 

He waits, his pulse thrumming wildly, for a droid to come attend to him. Surely, it would know the fate of their mission. After all, the majority of the Rebel Fleet had followed them. 

His queries are soon simply answered by a squeaky, emotionless and rather ancient medical droid. It runs over the preliminary checks methodically and quickly, sparing no time after declaring his condition was now stable, and it begins to roll out the door. 

“What happened to the rest of the team who left for Scarif? What happened to the plans?”

“That is not within my protocol to answer, Captain Andor,” the droid clicks, “but I overheard that the transport carrying you and two other rebel soldiers was the only one to make it off the planet after the Fleet left. Both of them succumbed to their injuries after arrival. The other soldiers in the medbay were part of the Fleet.” 

The droid’s voice is blunt. “Thus you are all that remains of the ground crew that led the attack on Scarif. The plans have been recovered and are in the possession of Her Highness Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, though she is currently not responding to incoming comms.” It rolls back, waiting. “Is there anything else you require?” 

There is the solitary beeping of the machine and nothing else. The silence is deafening. 

“N-no.” Cassian clears his throat, choking back a cry. “No, thank you. That is all.” 

“Understood. A medic will be here to consult with you in the morning.”  

He holds his breath until the door slides shut, leaving him alone with the slowly escalating beeping and his traitorous thoughts.

They were gone. _All of them_. 

Bodhi. Jyn. Chirrut. Baze. Melshi. Pao. Faces he knew, names he didn’t. 

People _he_ hand-picked for the slaughter. People who gave their lives for his single command. People who _trusted_  in him. And for what? 

He is, he always was, a traitor. It is the truth.

Guilt unwinds in his heart, twists around his lungs, slithers up his throat, and chokes him. He claws away at his bedclothes which cling to his body with sweat. 

 _You killed me, Cassian Andor,_ their voices cry. _And we will not be the last._

 _I won’t forget you!_  he moans in terror. _I will always remember your sacrifice._  

 _Really,_  they leer, _do you remember the face of every person you’ve killed, Cassian?_

The truth is suffocating. He didn’t. _He didn’t_. 

Tivik. The girl from Jenoport. His men on Eiloroseint, on Chemvau. The Festian Resistance fighters. But what were their names? What did their faces look like? 

The rest of the universe fades to the buzz of the monitor. All that remains is Cassian and his demons. 

_Your father died for you. Your mother died for you. Your sister died for you. Your people died for you. All these people died for you and your belief in a cause._

_A cause that is worth it,_ Cassian manages to think before doubt swallows up all his resolve. 

 _Y_ _ou know what happened the last time someone said that._ The truth is spit in his face. 

 _They died for you._ _But what did you do for them?_  Something slick presses against his face, and a threatening claw digs into his chest. __Even the plans haven’t made it out yet.__

He finds himself grasping at nothing, anything, just _any_ small reprieve from the accusations bombarding him. 

 _They died for you._ The claw twists, snaps. _What did you do for them?_

“I don’t know,” he gasps in pain, suddenly a small, scared little boy, “ _I don’t know!”_

_Give them what you should’ve given on Scarif._

Cassian had been denied his salvation on the sandy beaches that became his soldiers’ graves. They were all dead, now, free from their sins. 

He was all that remained. The sole shoulders that carried the weight of all their burdens. 

Guilt bares its teeth, all pointed fangs and icy venom.  _Of course a sinner like you would be denied his salvation._ It grins, forked tongue flickering.  _But there is a way to alleviate the burden._

“How?” Cassian pleads. “Tell me!” 

 _Give them what you should’ve given on Scarif,_ it whispers, breath hot and heavy against his face. _One life for the lives of many._ It chuckles. _Quite the bargain, if you ask me._ It settles deeper into his chest, boring a hole through his conscious, pushing aside all reason until it was was the only thing that remained. _End it all, or else…_ it licks its fangs, _you will live with me forever. And I only grow heavier._

Cassian’s eyes dart around wildly, looking for _something, anything_ that could stop the guilt from sinking its fangs into him. He pats his side, where his hostler usually is, but his blaster is gone. Of course. 

His eyes land on the IV drip, the cord dangling tantalizingly from the bag to the insertion point on his arm. He tugs at it gently, testing its strength. _Good enough_. Hungrily, _desperately,_ he lurches for it - 

and fire lances down his spine. He yells in pain, seeing stars. He hears medics rush into the room. 

Guilt is forgotten, it slithers back into its cavern, and agony takes its place.

His world is bright red - aflame - and then only darkness remains.

* * *

Chirrut’s hand on his shoulder.  _They’re on their way to Scarif. (He wants to shout, go back! It’s not worth it! But this is a memory.)_

_\- I can give you the key, Captain. But it’s up to you to free yourself._

_Cassian’s forehead wrinkles in confusion._

_\- What do you mean?_

_Chirrut smiles._

_\- In life, there is the Force. In the Force, there is life. And the Force is eternal._

And then he says something he didn’t say originally:

_\- Your loved ones are at one with the Force. They did not fear death, and you should not fear their deaths. Rejoice for what they have given you, and fight to keep their memories alive._

He clasps his hands over his.

\- _I fought for Jedha. I fought for what is right. It’s your turn to continue._

* * *

He is on Fest, waist-deep in snow, clutching a bouquet of freshly-picked wishblooms, their veins glittering red in the starlight, shining starkly against the snowy landscape.

\- _The white flowers represent Life. The black ones represent Death. We do not fear Death on Fest, for Death is a part of Life. Its inevitability makes Life sweeter. So we celebrate the lives of the fallen today, and mark their passage into the Force. And we continue to fight for their cause. Our bodies for the Force, our lives for the cause!_

The speeches made no sense to him then, but suddenly they do now.

* * *

His father’s voice, rumbling like thunder but as gentle as the snowflakes caressing his cheeks: 

_\- He will be fine. Even if we’re gone. When we’re gone. He feels the people’s suffering. Feels it deeply. The need to end that pain will supersede any pain of his own. And he will keep fighting._

And a voice long buried by the howls of the wind:

_\- Do you remember your promise to me, Cassian?_

He does. 

_\- Do not let us down. Do not let your people down. Do not let this galaxy down. Hope is the last possession of the downtrodden. Don’t you dare lose it._

And then his own words, spoken with Jyn’s gaze locked with his, with Bodhi’s words reverberating in his mind. 

 _\- I couldn’t forgive myself if I gave up now._  

* * *

“Captain Andor, can you hear me?” 

The fuzziness dissipates, and Cassian can slowly make out the features of a Sullustan medic peering at him. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” she says warmly in accented Basic. “We discovered some anomalies in your spine, presumably from a fall?” 

Cassian sighs shakily, fingers unwinding themselves from the blankets. He nods. “A few stories,” he replies with a smile, wincing at the feeling of cracked lips. 

“Then it’s a miracle that you survived,” the medic says, seemingly rushed. “A testament to your will to live.” 

“For the Rebellion,” Cassian mumbles, and the Sullustan nods knowingly. 

“I know your type. You want to be back in the action right away. Well, we’ve fixed the issue, and you will be fully functional in a few weeks. We did need to put in some cybernetic implants, but overall you will be back in top physical form very soon.” Her words are rushed, pressed ahead by an unseen urgency.

“Thank you,” Cassian says.

“Physically,” the Sullustan repeats. Cassian arches an eyebrow. “Your medical records state that you have prescriptions for antidepressants. I didn’t see your patch.”

Of course. He hadn’t taken any since they left for Scarif. All of a sudden his arm feels bare, missing the patch that slowly let chemicals into his bloodstream. 

The medic gives him a knowing nod, reading his expression. “That’s what I thought.” His gaze relaxes. “Captain, the medication is supposed to _help_  you, not be the sole source of comfort. You need a will to live.” 

“I’m-I won’t forget.” _Not anymore_. Guilt shrinks back in fear. 

_They died for you. What did you do for them?_

He is defiant now, resolve reforming quickly in his chest. _I fought. And I will fight. For them. And for the future._

The medic nods. “Good. Or else I’ll set a protocol droid after you.” She grins, and then it dies on her face. “But no-”

Just then, a trainee medic bursts through the doors. 

“The Death Star has been destroyed,” they say, breathless. 

Cassian blinks. “What?” 

The Sullustan turns to him. “Princess Leia made it back with the plans. I was waking you up for an evacuation. Turns out that won’t be necessary.” She grins broadly. “We did it!”

Cassian smiles weakly, and the chief medic follows the trainee out the door, and he can hear shouts of joy coming from the corridor. 

Jyn was right. Someone had been listening. Rogue One’s sacrifice wasn’t wasted. The Death Star is gone, taking a part of the Empire with it.

All that remains is hope.

As always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal thoughts


	2. going home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is no place for a spy, for a sniper. This is a place for war-weary soldiers to come to die.
> 
> It makes sense, then, that his feet have taken him here.
> 
> (potential trigger in end notes)

His faith carries him onward. It always had.

Cassian’s feet take him along a path sown with death and destruction. He stumbles, he falls, he rises, he moves on. He wipes at the side of his mouth and blood streaks across the hem of his sleeve. 

This journey began when the first Confederate ships’ landing gear sunk into the snow that dusted Fest’s landscape. His feet carried him past the dead bodies, away from the only home he’d ever known.

He stumbles again, firing haphazardly at a trooper that springs up from behind a tree. The careful precision and unnerving accuracy he developed throwing bottles as a boy in Fest’s resistance is lost to him now in the humid battlefield that is Endor’s thickly forested moon.

This is no place for a spy, for a sniper. This is a place for war-weary soldiers to come to die.

It makes sense, then, that his feet have taken him here. 

Past his mother’s crumpled body, blood spattered in the fresh snow around her in a ghostly aura. Past his first kill, his second, his hundredth. Past the bodies of the people he’d abandoned, by choice and otherwise. 

The path almost disappeared into dry sand and warm ocean water. But his faith carried him even when his own legs couldn’t.

He still walks with a slight limp. It hinders him as he dives into a bush out of the line of fire of an AT-ST. He’s panting, having given up on trying to catch his breath. Only one thing encompasses his mind, louder than the sounds of war ringing in his ears (of blasterfire and explosions; of the Ewoks’ battle cries and yelps of terror; of moans of pain and final breaths):

_buy them time. see the mission to completion. save the rebellion._

A sense of duty and a feeling of hope burn through his veins. The only two things that had saved a young boy from an icy grave on Fest. 

Someone points a blaster in the direction of the bunker. To Leia, to General Solo, to the desperate team of soldiers trying to get in.

He fires and a bloody flower blossoms on the trooper’s shoulder. With a cry, they fire back.

He’s falling, falling, fallen, sprawled on the lush undergrowth. Cassian manages to hold on to his blaster (as always, it was the second-last thing in his possession) and the trooper joins him in the dirt. Dead. 

The doors slide open, and the mission is complete.

Somewhere, somehow, someone decides to throw a detonator in his direction. He doesn’t bother rolling out of the way - it lands in the muck far enough that it doesn’t kill him instantly.

Broken twigs and fallen pine needles prickle at his back. He longs for a pillow of snow and a blanket of ice as he bleeds out on the forest floor, but instead it is lush grass and dried up leaves that envelop him in a final embrace. 

He was going home. That had always been the end destination. Blasterfire streaks through the air above, and lasers cut through the upper reaches of the moon’s atmosphere. He wonders, his blood seeping into the soil, whether his parents were proud of him.

 _We won’t rest until the galaxy is free._  

So he doesn’t. 

Cassian wills Death to wait. It does, moved by the boy who lost everything but hope, hope that the Rebellion will succeed - and the newfound hope that he will be reunited his loved ones in the realm that awaits him after death. 

 

* * *

 

 

The initial burst of excitement after the Death Star’s explosion wanes as the survivors realize the sheer amount of their losses. 

A solitary scout picks her way through the remains of her first real battle. Twigs and debris crunch under her feet as she scans through the tall grass for bodies. (She had given up looking for survivors.) The stench of ozone from blaster discharge hangs thickly in the air like smoke. 

Her eyes land on a spot between two trees whose bark had been sheared away by an explosion to a pair of boots lying in the grass. Her chest tightens with sorrow as she makes her way over and crouches beside the body clad in the Rebels’ camouflage. 

Pressing one hand over her mouth, she leans forward and notices how his eyes are fixed on to the sky directly above her head. She looks up into a clearing between the tree canopy where the last bits of debris from the superweapon glitter like gold in the night sky. 

It would have been a beautiful last sight. 

She looks back down and sees the stardust reflected in his own glassy eyes. Lips pursed and heart pounding in her rib cage, she raises her free hand to close his eyes. 

Her mission fulfilled, she rises and whispers her people’s death prayer under her breath.

_may he rest in peace, his wishes fulfilled. may his people welcome him home._

Judging by the ghost of the smile that was still etched on his face, she thinks they did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: death


End file.
